


Just Now Got the Feeling

by chucks_prophet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Amputee Castiel, Angry Dean, Asexual Castiel, Asexual Character, Fist Fights, Hopeful Ending, Humor, In Public, Light Angst, M/M, Public Scene, Veteran Castiel, wild from start to finish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-28
Updated: 2016-02-28
Packaged: 2018-05-23 16:23:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6122364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucks_prophet/pseuds/chucks_prophet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You either wait in line like the rest of us or you book an appointment with the Queen.”</p><p>Then the guy turns around, making it increasingly harder for Dean to hold his argument. He’s a few inches shorter than Goliath, but like hell if he isn’t downright gorgeous. Like Gadreel, he has a jaw as square as most the people in the room, only his is crawling with little brown gummy worms and his body is equally as fit. His eyes are a deeper blue than Gadreel’s, though, like the sky when a storm’s brewing.</p><p>His white, gummy smile is a booby trap Dean nearly falls in as he says, “What’re you gonna do about it?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Now Got the Feeling

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Play Me a Song, You're the Pianoman](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5647330) by [through_shadows_falling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/through_shadows_falling/pseuds/through_shadows_falling). 



> Title inspired by "For the First Time" by The Script.

Just Now Got the Feeling

 

The taste of bodily odor. The smell of a fraternity. The sound of moronic penetration.

 

These are _not_ a few of Dean’s favorite things.

 

“Hey, Crybaby, _mmmbop_ or lose it,” he curses to the pimple-popping Alice Cooper Jr. in front of him. You’d think they’d learn “saving spots” isn’t the most economical problem solving.

Then again, the unemployment line isn’t exactly doing wonders on his wallet, either. “Yeah, you heard me,” he sneers after receiving “that” look.

Never in his life has he taken more pity on mothers everywhere.

Then, as if things couldn’t get more strenuous, the dude behind him cuts to the front of the line. Obviously, this guy thinks he’s in the Fast Pass lane at Disneyland because he just saunters to the help desk, one arm swaying through the rank air like a church bell and the other… well, there is no _other_ , but Dean takes no prisoners:

“Hey, Soul Surfer, why don’t you take a sub-step back before those sharks tear into you again?”

And maybe this isn’t the place to call someone out, but let everyone stare with their bulging, beady eyes. This guy knows what he’s doing.

Another man standing next to him rolls his head around his neck like a newly polished bowling ball on a rack. He turns around, his clean-shaven but tightly clenched jawline slicing the air like a switchblade. He’s the same height as Dean, but he’s packing more than a few bacon cheeseburgers in his arms and legs. His eyes are the most expressive part of him—the color and attitude of pure ice.

“What did you say, buddy?”

“Gadreel,” the privileged waiter beseeches in an almost convincing tone, “it’s fine, really.”

“But Castiel, he said—”

“I heard what he said.”

Drinking in the sight of Gadreel, Dean sputters like his ‘67 Impala during a summer heat but remains true to his cause: “Your friend’s right, it’s not fine. You either wait in line like the rest of us or you book an appointment with the Queen.”

Then the guy turns around, making it increasingly harder for Dean to hold his argument. He’s a few inches shorter than _Goliath,_ but like hell if he isn’t downright gorgeous. Like Gadreel, he has a jaw as square as most the people in the room, only his is crawling with little brown gummy worms and his body is equally as fit. His eyes are a deeper blue than Gadreel’s, though, like the sky when a storm’s brewing.

His white, gummy smile is a booby trap Dean nearly falls in as he says, “What’re you gonna do about it?”

***

Maybe this wasn’t the best place to punch a guy’s lights out—or _attempt_ to anyway. The guy, Castiel, may have only one arm, but Dean swears he shot it up with testosterone before he walked in because _Dean’s_ the one who ended up with a black eye. That is, before they were both escorted out of the building.

“My dad was in the Marines,” Dean chimes like an off-key doorbell after a long moment, eyes glazing over with something akin to both fondness and fear, “Real hardass, but I used to figure it was ‘cos of his meds.” When he doesn’t get a response, he shovels his pocket for a cigarette and lighter. After a steady stream of smoke pillows out like an antiquated chimney, he adds, “I figure that’s how you lost your arm.”

Castiel is sitting on a bench opposite him so Dean can’t see him when he says, “I was air force.”

“What’s that like?”

“I don’t know, it _zoomed_ past me.”

Dean’s eyes narrow before turning around, catching sight of a small but present smirk stretching his face. Dean plops his ass on the stone hard bench, taking another hit before he asks, “How did you get out?”

“Dishonorable discharge.”

With splintered ice skates on a frosted lake, Dean asks, “What happened?”

"Some biphobe called me out for sexual harassment,” he replies, scratching the back of his neck. “Naturally they started an investigation and a bunch of other guys started coming forward and testifying, even though I’m ace. That was _after_ Uncle Sam took this puppy, though.” He slaps the shrouded stump on his right side. "Guess it was a last-minute severance package."

Dean closes his eyes and brings his cigarette to his temple, "I'm sorry, man. If I'd have known—”

"How could you?" Castiel asks, shrugging. Then his head snaps back to Dean, a Tim Curry-worthy grin running across his cheeks. "I actually got a kick out of the stunt you pulled back there."

Dean scoffs, "How could you possibly have _enjoyed_ that? I totally Springer'd you in front of a hundred people."

"Because you called me out," Castiel says plainly. "I mean, hell yeah it was fucking crass, but most people are too afraid to insult let alone _talk_ to an amputee, so I take advantage sometimes. You treated me like a normal person in there. And as Hallmark as it sounds, that's all I've ever wanted."

“That and to see the crap beaten out of me.”

“That too,” Castiel acquiesces, blushing early onset heat stroke, “Gadreel was really looking forward to that. He gets a little testy if he doesn’t fill his daily quota.”

“I’m afraid to ask if you’re joking.”

“It’s best not to.”

“Dean,” he says, finally supplying his name and his not-as-eager hand.

Castiel takes it and restates his name, “My parents are religious kooks. Little did they know I’m an Angel of Thursday and Gadreel is one of Satan’s spawns until _after_ the birth certificates were finalized.”

“I was named after my grandma,” Dean says, unfazed.

 Cas bursts laughing—a rich, throaty sound that’s a pleasantry to his blushing ears, “You win.”

“What kinda job are you looking for?”

“Something with machines,” Cas says, then asks, _“May I?”_ gesturing to Dean’s half-chewed, half-forgotten cigarette. Dean draws one last smoke ring before handing the rest to Cas. He finds himself transfixed by Cas’s scrunched pink lips that only tighten as he inhales and exhales. “I’m good with my hands.”

Dean slides closer. “My Uncle Bobby runs a body shop on Sicklemore. Doesn’t sound too glamorous, but the pay’s good. I got fired, but I can put in a good word for you.”

“That sounds perfect, Dean,” Cas says, smiling. “Thank you, really… but why did you get fired?”

“I may have told my co-worker Martin to fuck himself silly after he insulted my best friend.”

“ _Well_ ,” Cas says, biting his cheek to avoid grinning loudly, “you should try to get your position back. I’d love to work with you.”

"Whoa there, Kilmer. I’ll be your wingman, just use your fist for good, alright?" Dean chuckles, watching the last of his cigarette in Cas’s hands burn in the atmosphere and thinking one day, when he gets his shit together, he might just take him up on his offer.

 

 

 


End file.
